Chapter 4: Night Wanderings

The pop-ups did quiet down and haven’t appeared again so far. But after this, my beloved consort became distant from me and didn’t come to visit for a long time. When she used to be by my side, her gentle company made me sleep better. But these days, I kept having nightmares.

The nights stretched longer, with the sound of the city’s life drifting in through my open window: the temple bells from across the river, the rickshaw-walas arguing in the lane, the distant thump of tabla practice from the musicians’ quarter. The scent of raat ki rani drifted in from the garden, sweet and sharp. Restless, I tossed and turned, missing the soft lilt of Meera’s voice and the warmth of her hand on my forehead. One night, after another dream left me drenched in sweat, I slipped into a plain white kurta, tied my dupatta loosely around my shoulders, and wandered the palace. The click of my kolhapuri sandals echoed against the marble floor, and each breath seemed loud in the cavernous hallway. My feet took me, almost without thinking, to Shantivan Palace—a place I had avoided for years, blaming its silence for my own unease.

I told the attendant on night duty not to make a sound and quietly entered the palace I had always disliked most.

The corridor was lined with old oil paintings, the eyes of my ancestors watching silently from their frames. My marriage to the Maharani was arranged by the retired Raja, my late father. I had always felt cornered, as if my life was a chessboard and I only a pawn. I never loved Ananya, the Maharani. My heart had belonged to Meera from the start. Even when I defied every custom and brought the commoner Meera into the palace—ignoring the shock of the entire royal court—I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt toward Ananya. She had always done her duty, never once complaining, not even when my love for Meera became public gossip in the city. It was Meera who had nursed me when I fell ill among the commoners. I had promised her the world and given her only palace walls. The memory burned sharper as I stood outside Ananya’s door.

Thinking of this, I felt even more sorry for my beloved consort. My steps toward the inner court of Shantivan Palace halted, and I turned to head for Kamal Mahal to visit Meera instead. But just as I was about to turn, a dog’s barking caught my attention. A short-legged little white dog ran toward me, circled me a few times, then affectionately rubbed against my leg. Finding it adorable, I was about to pick it up when a woman’s voice came from ahead.

The silence broke as a gentle voice floated through the moonlit veranda, “Your Majesty, visiting so late at night—what brings you here?”

Her tone was gentle, tinged with a coldness that pricked at some old wound. Something about it was achingly familiar, like the first notes of a song from childhood. I looked up to see Maharani Ananya, dressed in a simple white cotton saree, her hair in a loose braid. My face darkened at her presence, a reflex more than a thought.

“Can’t I come if I have nothing to do? The whole world is mine, let alone this palace?”

Maharani Ananya frowned and pursed her lips. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that Your Majesty hasn’t set foot in Shantivan Palace for a long time. I was a bit uneasy.”

That calm face suddenly showed a bit of shyness. I saw her bend down and pick up the fluffy Bhalu from the ground.

Her hands trembled slightly as she scooped Bhalu into her arms, letting him nuzzle beneath her chin, as if he were her own child. The sight made my chest ache. I noticed the tremor, but I said nothing—realising, perhaps for the first time, how much of her pain I had overlooked all these years. “Bhalu was unruly and bumped into Your Majesty. Please forgive him.” Her voice was soft, almost apologetic, as she fussed over the dog, smoothing its fur. For a brief moment, the years of coldness between us seemed to thin.

I didn’t hear what she said clearly, because the long-missing comment pop-up appeared again.

[What’s up with the clueless Raja, coming to Shantivan Palace in the middle of the night? Did he suddenly realise how good the Maharani is?]

[I always thought he had bad taste. The Maharani is clearly more beautiful than Consort Meera—dignified and elegant—yet he just likes Meera’s sharp and petty looks.]

I felt a strange stirring, as if seeing Ananya for the first time. Her face, lit by the soft glow of the diya, seemed almost ethereal. I stepped closer, drawn by an urge I could not name. The silence between us was now thick with something unsaid. In the stillness, I noticed how the edge of her saree was dusted with flour—she must have been making prasad for the morning puja. My gaze travelled down and paused.

“Why did you come out without slippers or a shawl?”

Before the Maharani could answer, the pop-up had already replied for her.

[Isn’t it because she found out you were here, rushed out to see you without even putting on slippers?]

[Think about it, how many times have you visited this palace in all these years of marriage?]

[Maharani Ananya has kept an empty bed for him for years, yet abides by her duties as a wife. If I were her, I’d have secretly kept a male friend by now—he’d never notice anyway.]

I felt my cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and pride—after all, what man does not want to be longed for? The air between us changed, the moonlight slanting in like a silent blessing. With a sudden impulse, I swept her up into my arms. For a moment I hesitated, recalling my father’s stern lectures about dignity and duty—what would he say if he saw me now? But the impulse was stronger. I acted, carrying both Ananya and Bhalu, and strode toward her bedchamber, my heart pounding with a strange, unfamiliar excitement.